Reflections
by Bluu3
Summary: The war has affected many people in countless ways. Including Petunia Dursley, Peter Pettigrew, Remus Lupin, Molly Weasley, Hermione Granger, and others - a series of one-shots looking into different experiences and perspectives on the war.
1. Default Chapter

**Disclaimer: **I do not own the characters, settings or any you recognize of _Harry Potter_. I am just borrowing the things of the 'Harry Potter universe' and writing about them. I thank J.K. Rowling for allowing us to do so.

**A/N:** Thanks a lot to Aeli Kindara, my wonderful beta!

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**Reflections**

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Petunia Dursley

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I never hated Lily, not really. It was more of her world that I hated, rather than Lily herself. I wish she were still alive – I really do, no matter what I may say or do. 

I wish Lily hadn't gone off at age eleven and gotten herself mixed up with magic. I thought it astonishing and even interesting, at first, but as time passed, I found myself envying her. That envy turned to jealousy somewhere along the line, but when exactly, I can't say.

I wish Lily hadn't gone off and gotten herself married to that brainless wizard, James Potter. Lily insists that he is not a brainless wizard, but I must differ. It's obvious that he hasn't been good for her. If it weren't for him, perhaps Lily would still be alive. Perhaps this . . . Voldemort . . . wouldn't have known of her. But then again, knowing Lily, she would have gotten herself mixed up with that villain anyway.

If that fateful owl had never flown through the kitchen window that day . . . I wonder, perhaps, if Lily and I would still have been the best of sisters. We certainly seemed so when we were younger. She used to be my best friend, even as she played the role of a sister. But that all changed.

I didn't really hate her world – I was only jealous of her abilities – until that day in June. A Friday, I remember. Lily had only just gotten home for the summer a few days before. It was about nine thirty at night, and we were each in our respective rooms – I was sitting with my back against the pillows, leafing through a teen magazine. Glancing across the hall, I could see her through her open doorway, lounging back with some Shakespearean comedy propped against her knees. Downstairs, Mum and Dad were playing their nightly game of cards. It had been a tradition with them as far back as I could remember, and there was a large pad of paper next to the refrigerator that held records of wins and losses since 1968. From my room, I could hear occasional exclamations and laughter from below.

Suddenly, the sound of breaking glass shattered the peaceful night. Without even thinking, I was on my feet and running down the stairs. I heard Lily's door slam behind me.

I stopped short at the foot of the stairs. A dark figure stood framed by the jagged glass remaining in the window frame. My parents were halfway to their feet when the figure raised its arm and, swishing a stick down through the air, yelled some nonsense I didn't recognize. Green light blazed against my eyes, and I heard a scream that was cut off abruptly.

I felt a firm hand on my shoulder pull me backwards, up the stairs. I nearly screamed, but a hand covered my mouth. It was small and smooth – Lily's. It was several minutes before she released me. I quickly ran back down the stairs, and my breath caught in my throat as the horrific scene met my eyes. The stranger was gone, but my parents were sprawled on the floor, eyes wide and mouths open in shock, undeniably dead. Cards were scattered around them. I remembered one of those stupid lateral thinking puzzles that Lily loved. _A man lies dead among fifty-two bicycles . . ._

Mouthing soundlessly with rage and fear, I wheeled and stared up at Lily. She was sitting on the third step to the top, just below the one that creaked. Silent tears were streaming down her face.

I just – burst. I remember railing at her, screaming that this was all her fault, her doing – that she had brought this evil upon us. I remember I blamed her for not saving Mum and Dad, too, although I knew she couldn't have. I remember her face, streaked with tears, expression filled with guilt and pain. I remember her absolutely silent, while I screamed and yelled. She only stared at her feet, the constant flow of tears wetting her cheeks and dripping to the floor.

That was the night I started to despise and loathe her world. How could I not, when it had taken away my family? And that cursed world took Lily from me, and I hated it even more. Lily was a precious sister, no matter what I had said to her. She was my only younger sister and I had felt a need to protect her, once – and still, if I really thought about it. Now, I'm trapped in a world of pretending and I have to feign absolute hatred toward Lily and everything and everyone else in her world. Vernon assumes I hate her.

I'm living a dull life, I know, with Vernon, whom I don't truly, genuinely love. But no, I won't ever run away. I won't start a new life. I have Dudley to take care of, in any case.

All right, I admit it, that's not the real reason why I stay. It's just – I was never as brave as Lily. She was the brave one and the friendly one. I would never have the courage to try something new or to move on after a death of a loved one. Back then, Lily would call me often, seeking condolence because another one of her close friends had died. I never returned her calls, but I knew that she was undergoing a great deal of pain and misery. I wondered why she wouldn't just leave that world. Lily was always the brave one, and I rarely saw her in tears, but in that time of chaos and destruction in her world, she seemed to be constantly crying, or so I gathered from her calls.

And then one morning, I opened the door to find a baby on the doorstep — Harry, Lily's son. There was a letter with him. When I opened it with trembling hands, I found that Lily had been killed. I wanted to scream, again. Why hadn't Lily abandoned that world? And now . . . she was dead. She wouldn't be coming back, ever again. I wanted to cry. I wished she had returned to the normal world. But I held back tears and tried to remain indifferent, treating Harry with no love at all.

Harry, to me, was a constant reminder of Lily and her death. I know I should show him more love, as Lily's son, but I can't bring myself to do that. I miss Lily so much – not that I'll show it – but I do. But for some reason, I don't feel that love for her son – only hate and disdain.

If only Lily were still alive . . .

But she's not.

And reality is the only thing that matters right now. It's the only thing that keeps me sane, I think – it doesn't matter what I want to think about. It's what I need to think about in order to be okay.

Reality, reality, reality . . .

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**Author's Note:**

A note about the scene where Petunia's parents die: My wonderful beta, Aeli Kindara, was a huge, huge help for this scene. She actually wrote most of or almost all of that scene. So, thanks to you, Aeli, for that. :)

A note about this line: "_A man lies dead among fifty-two bicycles…"_ It's a lateral thinking puzzle where you have to ask yes or no questions to figure out what is going on. As it turns out, the man was playing cards with some other people and got shot when he got into an argument with them. Well…a popular deck of playing cards is called bicycles – so "fifty-two bicycles" is a deck of cards.


	2. Narcissa Malfoy

**Author's Note: **I was actually wondering if I should put this one up - if it was plausible enough, and if it was...good enough, simply because someone had told me it wasn't that good. Well, I finally decided to put it up, as you can see, and I hope it's good.Enjoy. ;)

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**Narcissa Malfoy

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**I never dreamed of having a life like this. Perhaps I knew, subconsciously, what life I would be living when I married my husband, but I didn't really know – or rather, I refused to acknowledge it. 

Sometimes I wonder why I married him. It's silly, really. I loved him, once. But now, it's as if he's a stranger. An occasional visitor to the house. Someone who couldn't possibly have been, at once point, that man I married so many years ago.

The war really devastated everyone. Not just the Muggleborn wizards and witches, and not just Dumbledore and not just those who aren't Death Eaters. The war devastated us, too. The Death Eaters and the families of the Death Eaters. It's not often that we think of wars hurting the villains; it's always the heroes that are being hurt, devastated. But I know that's not true.

Lucius comes home everyday – no, not even everyday anymore – and barely says a word to me or our son. It's as if he's lost the ability to feel any sort of emotion. I loved him once, and he loved me back. I really wonder when that warm feeling disappeared. It's as if it never existed.

We used to gather in the sitting room after dinner – Lucius and Draco and me. And I would play the piano for them. Beethoven's Moonlight Sonata, or Chopin's Impromptu. And now, Draco is at school most of the year, and Lucius doesn't seem to want to or have time to listen. I still play, of course, but it's cold and lonely.

On some days, the Minister for Magic – Cornelius Fudge – will come to our house. And stay and have a long talk with Lucius. Probably a clandestine deal or something. And then other times, Aurors will come knocking at the door to search the entire house. And it's then I wonder what Lucius has been doing. I never say anything to him about those searches, and he doesn't seem to want me to. I can only hope it isn't going to ruin Draco's future.

And then one evening, "Narcissa…what do you want Draco to do after he graduates from Hogwarts?"

You see, I had persuaded him to send our dear Draco to Hogwarts, and not to Durmstrang. Durmstrang would harden him, would associate him too much with the Dark Arts at such an early age, and I didn't want that.

"I don't know," I replied. "Draco should be able to do whatever he wants, almost. He's not doing badly in terms of grades."

He looked at me for a while. "Narcissa… The Dark Lord wants to have Draco in his service."

I stared at him in shock and extreme disappointment. "Lucius… Draco can't… Please. You promised me…"

"I know I did, Narcissa," he said quietly. "But I can't defy the Dark Lord. I'd rather we live, than that we all be killed."

I cried, and for once, he comforted me. "I'm sorry, Narcissa," he repeated. But those words did nothing to ease my pain. I had tried so hard to keep Draco away from evil, persuading Lucius to send him to Hogwarts… But it seemed that none of that had helped in the end.

I would lose both my husband and my son – my only two loves – to this blasted war. I _hated_ the war.

I hated the war like nothing else I had ever "hated." This was pure hate. The others, mere dislikes, exaggerated by a teenage girl. But the war – it had devastated my life, and I was determined to hate it until the day I died.

"Narcissa, you must understand…" Lucius often tried to placate me. But what was I supposed to understand? That life was going to be unfair to me and that I was just supposed to deal with it? I felt it _unjust._

And so when Draco was assigned that task of…of murdering Dumbledore, I obviously reacted badly. He was only sixteen! Sixteen, destined to be a murderer, employed in the Dark Lord's service! A kind of bitterness – bitterness and despair – took over me. Devoid of all hope, I resolved to go to Severus and beg him for his help. He would know what to do, perhaps.

But Bella found out before I was able to go there. Bella, devoted servant to the Dark Lord. Oh, how I despised that fact. She was my sister, and I loved her, but did she really have to commit herself to the Dark Lord? I didn't see what was so great about this man – this man who killed for no reason at all. This man who was planning to bring the Wizarding World as we know it into destruction and chaos. This man who was planning to kill Dumbledore – the man who had defeated Grindelwald in our darkest times. Oh, I'm sure many would be surprised to know that I am against this war. But I don't tell anyone, of course. There are severe consequences, especially since I'm Lucius' wife.

But anyways, just as I was going out to plead with Severus, wearing a dark cloak, Bella Apparated into the house. I was surprised, of course.

"Bella, what a surprise to have you here!" I remember I exclaimed. I had been rather nervous that Lucius would find out, and Bella coming was not exactly the path to secrecy from Lucius.

"I heard you were going to Severus Snape."

I knew it would be of no use to lie. "I am."

"For what reason, Cissy?"

I sighed. "I need to talk to him."

"About Draco?"

I looked at her in surprise.

"So it is about him, then," she said.

"I'm desperate, Bella. He's my only child! My son!"

"You should be willing to give him up for the Dark Lord, Cissy. It's an _honor_, my sister."

"Bella… it is so hard to give up your child, to _anyone._"

Bella sighed in frustration. "Cissy, don't you understand? Anything or anyone can be given up for the Dark Lord's purpose. I would be willing to give my life for him."

I didn't understand. And I don't understand now either. What could be so important about one man that he would be worthy of taking things and people from everyone? Ripping families apart, devastating towns and cities, tearing apart children and their parents, senseless murdering – how could that man do those things and still be respected by some? How was it even _possible?_

To others, it may have looked like I supported the Dark Lord, his cause, and the war for his glory. To Bella, it may have seemed as if I was committed to supporting him, but was reluctant or hesitant in action only.

But I wish they all knew how much I hated the Dark Lord, his cause, and this war.


End file.
